Psalm 85
David A. Davis
December 10, 2023
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Some will remember hearing me tell of the time my peer group of pastors were on a tour of the Andrew Wyeth art collection at the Brandywine Museum. The docent that day for our tour was the granddaughter of Andrew Wyeth. At one point we were standing before the very familiar Wyeth painting called “Master Bedroom.” It’s a simple picture that shows a sparse room with a window on the wall just on the other side of the bed. It’s a four-post bed with a white cabled bedspread and a dog curled up and sleeping right in the nook formed by the pillows and the fold of the spread tucked under. We have a print of the painting hanging in our house. I always thought it was called “Dog on A Bed.” But there in the museum it was identified as “Master Bedroom.”
As the granddaughter told us about the painting, she mentioned that she got a kick out of how critics and scholars and visitors tried to read so much into this simple painting: the location, the symbolism, the painter’s motivation, the theme of the window in Wyeth’s art, the importance of the dog in his life. She laughed and shook her head, “Come on” she said, “it’s just a dog on a bed.” I figured I was half right when it came to the name of the painting. “What I want you to notice” she continued, “is the technique in watercolor. Notice the brush strokes, the use of color and the use of negative space.” She directed our eyes toward the fringe of the bedspread. “The dominant light color of the spread comes from the canvas itself. What is painted here in the fringe, is not the light color cords of material hanging off the spread. What is painted is the shadows of darkness. The empty space there in the fringe.” She was explaining that the color of the bedspread was actually the color of the blank canvas. When you look close at the original painting there in the museum rather than a framed print reproduction hanging on your wall, you can actually see brushstrokes and the method that Wyeth’s granddaughter described. What the artist painted was not the bedspread but the dark places that formed the folds in the spread and the space between the tassels hanging off the bottom. “Think of the creative mind of the artist” she said, “who could paint what’s not there”. An artist painting what is not there. I would like to invite you join me in reflecting a bit this morning on Mary, the Angel Gabriel, and the psalmist and seeing the glory that isn’t there. Seeing the glory that isn’t there.
When Gabriel appears to Mary, the angel tells her two times that she is “favored”. Gabriel says it twice but doesn’t offer an explanation as to why or what that means. “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” When Elizabeth sees Mary, she invokes a blessing three times. “Blessed are you among women. Blessed is the fruit of your womb” Elizabeth proclaims. “And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for you. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Blessed are you among women. Blessed is the fruit of your womb. Blessed is she who believed.
The blessing comes from Elizabeth to Mary because Mary believed. Mary believed that “there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Mary believed what Gabriel told her. Mary believed what God said to her through the Angel Gabriel. “Blessed is she that believed.”
You remember that in her belief she offers her song. The Magnificat. In her belief, Mary sings of the One who has done great things for her. In her belief, she sings of world where the proud are scattered, the powerful made low, and the lowly lifted up. In her belief, Mary sees a world that isn’t there…yet. In her belief, Mary sings of the mighty acts of God she can’t see… yet. Like an artist who paints what isn’t there, Mary sees the glory of God that isn’t there…yet. “My soul magnifies the Lord!” Mary’s belief and painting the glory of God that isn’t there….yet.
The psalmist, with the same brush, paints a kingdom not yet seen. “Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for God will speak peace to God’s people, to God’s faithful, to those who turn to God in their hearts. Surely God’s salvation is at hand for those who fear the Lord, that God’s glory may dwell in our land. Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet, righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Faithfulness will spring up from the ground, and righteousness will look down from the sky.” Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet and righteousness and peace will kiss each other. The psalmist believing, claiming, and holding on to the promise of God that, in the words of the prophet, that one day “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.” Seeing the glory that isn’t there.
In his book Deep Memory, Exuberant Hope, biblical theologian Walker Brueggemann argues that the church gathering week in and week out to experience the proclamation of the gospel is a subversive act in the world. A preacher called by God and called by the congregation one serves stands up week in and week out to offer a holy alternative to the version of reality that surrounds and dominates the listeners. Gospel proclamation points to “another way of life in the world” Brueggemann writes, that “is not only possible” but is uniquely mandated by and validated by God. The proclamation of the gospel empowers a community of the followers of Jesus who are “determined to practice their lives according to a different way of imagining.” Put another way, a community determined to see and live and work toward a glory that isn’t there….yet.
A key understanding for preacher and listeners week in and week out, according to Brueggeman, is that we believe “an alternative world is possible. The old world is not a given…Another world is possible- in our imaginations we listen and imagine differently. In our liberation we entertain different realities not yet given.” It is not just in our imaginations, the theologian goes on, it is in our practice. “We are only a few, but we are some” he writes. “We can do little, but something….we begin to enact another world. Foolishly, we enact in obedience to a daring claim, obedience to a possibility; we specialize in cold water and shared bread, in welcome speech, hospitality, sharing, giving, compassion, caring, in small ways, setting the world afresh.” Or in another words, you and I, we can begin to paint just a little of what isn’t there.
Not long ago, my wife Cathy was in the large and crowed waiting area of a local health care provider. In that room, a member of the staff came from behind the counter to give some papers to a patient getting ready to leave after the appointment. The patient was senior who didn’t whisper and had trouble hearing. So despite all HIPA rules about privacy, the entire room could the conversation. The departing patient was a bit flustered trying to get themselves ready to go and was trying to call a cab for ride home. The young healthcare staff member suggested that maybe an Uber or Lyft would be cheaper and easier. Knowing the patient would likely not know how, the young person offered to download the app and input the information, and get things started. It was all a bit clunky and then the patient couldn’t find the credit card and was getting more and more frustrated with themself. Cathy watched as the staff person picked up their own phone and within seconds told the patient a ride would be arriving in three minutes at the front door. The relieved patient pulled out some cash to reimburse the young person for the Uber. The employee of course politely said no and helped the person get their things together and walked them out the door. “You forget these days” Cathy said, “how powerful it is to see someone being unexpectedly kind.”
In small ways, setting the world afresh. Painting just a little of what isn’t there. I once read a sermon from preacher now long gone who described his driving past a farm at the dawn of a new day. “I saw a field so full of pumpkins that it looked like the sun had fallen and broken into smithereens. I saw a silo…that was wearing a halo of birds. I saw the clouds of the night holding on to the dawn….And I saw long lines of the grey trees already beginning to protect the hills that the winder winds have wounded.” I don’t remember much about the sermon but that imagery and use of language has stuck with me. “A field so full of pumpkins that it looked like the sun had fallen and broken into smithereens.” What if the glory of God is sort of like that. Like the sun has fallen into the world and broken into smithereens. Little slices of the glory of God all around.
Advent is a time in the life of discipleship to remember that our Savior, the Christ Child is calling the Body of Christ that is Nassau Church to practice our lives according to a different way of imagining. We are few but we are some. We can do little, but we can do some. Our Savior, the Christ Child is calling each of us to join the angel Gabriel, Mary the mother of Jesus, and the psalmist in painting a kingdom that isn’t there….yet. Join them in believing that with God, nothing will be impossible. To see with them, the glory of God that isn’t there….yet. For in seeing, painting, and doing, each of us in our own lives can make knoeen, by God’s grace, the smithereens of God’s glory.